


Neither Paris, Nor the Goddess

by Persephone



Series: Sons of Troy [6]
Category: The Iliad - Homer, Troy (2004)
Genre: Anger, Hate Sex, M/M, Roughness, Sensuality, Sibling Incest, Weapons Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone/pseuds/Persephone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hector, feeling reckless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Paris was smiling at their father, and King Priam was laughing delightfully.

Hector silently watched from where he stood, livid.

The sun was just setting, and the failing light tinted the gardens of the palace whatever hue the flowers wished. The air was warm, and lay softly on skin like a touch of desire.

Under a secluded alcove of cascading flowers, on a large, ornate stone bench covered in silks and pillows, sat Paris and Priam, laughing. There was no need to even look in their direction, or to even hear their laughter, to know without a doubt that they delighted so much in each other’s company that nothing else seemed to exist for them.

Paris’s hand rested gently on their father’s shoulder, and he had pulled up one knee and clasped his arm around it. Priam was leaning towards his youngest son, attentive to every word he was saying. Occasionally he would cover Paris’s hand with his, and at those times, his smile, his eyes, were so full of happiness that Hector looked away.

Hector had been standing in the arched walkway running around the deserted gardens for a while, but didn’t know what they were laughing about, what Paris was saying to him to delight him so. But whatever they were talking about, they were done, as far as Hector was concerned.

Hector stepped from under the walkway, and deliberately let his scabbard clang against his armor. Paris heard, but didn’t turn toward Hector. Instead, as their father closed his eyes and laughed again, Paris lowered his eyes and pressed his lips together.

When Priam realized he now laughed alone, he slowly stopped and looked askance at Paris, who did not meet his gaze, before turning around. Priam’s laughter transformed into a gentle smile.

“My son,” he said, getting up.

Hector hurried over and knelt before his father so that the old man would not have to rise.

Priam placed his hand on his son’s head and slowly ruffled his curls. Hector silently bore the childish caress before taking his father’s hand and kissing it. Paris had neither moved, nor made any sound. Hector kept his eyes on his father’s hand, savoring these last few minutes of his sanity.

“Today the scales of Olympus were tipped against Troy,” Priam said softly.

“Today Podes, Eetion’s son and my own brother in-law, and Phaenops, son of Asius, traveled to the realm of Lord Hades,” Hector responded just as softly. He controlled his voice so that in it there was no anger, for he loved and revered his father and King, and would never say words in anger towards him.

“Podes was your close friend, and Phaenops your dear ally.” Priam placed his hand on Hector’s cheek. “I have been informed of this news, and my heart has been weighed down.”

“Then I am glad that Alexandros is here to ease that pain,” Hector said slowly, paying attention to the manner in which he spoke every syllable, endeavoring to sound neutral.

His father nodded warily, then turned smiling to Paris. “No words of welcome for Hector?”

“Wel- welcome back, Hector,” Paris said in a firm voice. Knowing Priam was watching Paris and not him, Hector slid his eyes over and looked at Paris out of the corner of his eyes. Paris’s eyes widened in fear… and his beautiful face blushed deeply.

“Your friends were brave warriors,” Priam said kindly, “they will receive fitting honor in the House of the Dead.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Hector said, and added carefully, “for _they_ did their part in this war.”

Priam looked from Hector to Paris, and Hector kept on looking at Paris. Paris’s eyes shot from Hector’s to their father’s and then back again, his face ruddy with emotion. He pressed his lips tightly together.

Priam looked back to Hector and then squeezed his shoulder. “Yet, no two men play the same part in this life.”

“Wise words, Father,” Hector said through gritted teeth, still watching Paris. He tried breathing as evenly as he could. Paris’s eyes flew from his, but kept darting back despite himself. He shifted on his silk pillows and tried to relax his compressed lips. Hector watched them turn a vibrant crimson with the effort.

Priam placed his other hand on Paris’s shoulder. “I think perhaps you ought to share with your brother your gifts of comfort, for at the moment he needs it more than I.”

“I would like very much to try… ” Paris said meekly.

“Thank you, Father,” Hector kept his voice mild, belying the force compelling his words, “but it is not _comfort_ I need.”

Again Priam looked from Hector to Paris. And still Hector kept on looking at Paris.

Restlessly, Paris dropped the leg he had on the bench back to the ground, the lean muscles of his golden thigh pressing against the stone seat of the bench for a moment. Then he pulled it back up and wrapped his arms around it.

“Father,” he smiled shakily, “perhaps Hector would like to- to enjoy a… relaxing… evening meal with you. It might make my “work” a little easier…” Paris laughed breathlessly.

“Yes! A wonderful idea. I cannot remember when last—”

“Thank you for the kind offer, Father,” Hector said, well aware that the offer had not come from Priam. “But it is not _food_ I need, either.”

There was silence, and Hector knew he was baffling his father. But he could not make himself care at this moment.

“But Hector,” Paris tried to maintain his smile, but now only looked panicked. “You seldom have the opportunity to dine with Father. Surely you would not miss such a chance if given.”

“Never mind, my dear Paris,” Priam stood up. “Hector presently seems to have other matters on his mind.”

Priam leaned down and kissed the top of Hector’s head where he still knelt. Then he leaned down and whispered in Hector’s ear, “Be kind to him.”

Hector made no movements acknowledging Priam’s words as Priam gathered his robes about him and stepped around Hector.

“Father!” Paris exclaimed. “We were not done—”

“There will other times, Paris,” Priam turned and smiled over his shoulder. Then he walked out of the garden, and left Hector alone with Paris.

Hector had not for one moment taken his eyes off Paris. Slowly, he stood up. From his great height, he surveyed Paris.

“Have you had a _good_ day, Xandros?” Hector asked quietly, and with one powerful jerk snapped the leather fastening holding his scabbard around his waist. Paris’s jaw dropped and he blinked rapidly.

Hector dropped his sword to the stone floor where it landed with a crash. The sound galvanized Paris and he bolted out of the bench, and was three feet away before Hector knew it.

“What is it, Alexandros,” Hector asked midly.

Paris breathed through his mouth, and Hector felt as though even at this distance he could feel Paris’s hot breath on him. His skin slowly tightened all over his body.

“Surely you have _other_ gifts to share with me,” he grated, and took a step closer to Paris.

Paris stepped back once, then his eyes dropped like stones to Hector’s groin. A small gasp escaped his lips.

Hector waited for Paris’s eyes to lift and meet his again. He knew what he would see in them, and what it would feel like to look in them. How ravenous he would become.

But this time his hunger would not supplant his rage. It would feed it.

And when Paris did look up, his eyes were black as night. Even expecting it, Hector was not prepared for the deepness of Paris’s desire. Paris’s face was flushed and his eyes half closed, and his breathing had turned shallow and hypnotizing. Hector stood perfectly still, watching Paris’s face, dazed with the need to subject, to subjugate his brother.

But he dared not move. Any movement would take him only in Paris’s direction, and if he touched Paris at this moment he would mount him where he stood.

Paris bit his lower lip until the skin turned white. Yet – instinctively – he did not make any movements at all. “What do you want me to do, Hector,” he whispered quietly.

Hector only watched him.

“I- I shall go to your rooms…”

Hector slowly shook his head. “My armory,” he instructed flatly.

Paris nodded convulsively, and was gone.

Hector took a moment to retrieve his sword from where it lay on the ground so that he would not immediately go after Paris. Then he stood staring at the sword in his hands, trying one last time to get back his sanity. But there was no room in his mind for any other thought, and all he could see was the image of Paris, golden and naked beneath him.

This time Hector did not pray for protection from his brother’s desire, neither did he pray for control over himself. Today he had lost two men whom he had never believed he would. Both in one battle.

Both to one unrepented, eternally resonating act by Paris.

This night he was going to meet the goddess and her beloved head on, and he did not care what happened.  
**************

The door to his armory was slightly ajar, and Paris was inside, leaning against the door jamb, his face flush against the wall. Hector stood in the doorway, staring at Paris. Paris’s eyes caused his heart to pound, giving him a moment of hesitation. But he would not stop now.

He stepped fully into the room and tossed his sword sheath to one side, where it crashed against the wall and landed on the floor. Paris flinched and walked slowly backwards until he bumped against the shelves on the opposite wall.

All around shelves were stacked floor to ceiling with bronze and iron and leather weaponry, and in the dimness of the small room, Paris’s golden skin gleamed like a halo around his slender form.

Paris had on nothing but a red long sleeved shift that stopped at his lean thighs, in which he would have had to walk through several halls of the palace to get to the armory. Hector marveled that nobody would question seeing his brother like that, that it would even be expected of him.

Hector’s eyes devoured those gleaming thighs before roaming over every inch of Paris. Tonight he would punish that golden body.

Without turning around, he reached behind him and threw the iron bolt in the door. Paris stood perfectly still, his eyes lowered to the floor. His chest rose and fell gently.

“Whatever it seems I have done, Hector—”

Hector gripped both sides of his armor. With a growl he pulled and snapped every leather strap holding his breastplate in place, and dropped it to the floor. Paris’s eyes enlarged, and he tried to take one more step back, but he was out of room.

“Stay where you are, Xandros,” Hector warned and Paris stopped moving.

Hector moved farther into the room until he was standing so close to Paris he could feel his warm breath on his bare chest, shallow and nearly breathless. His skin heated and tightened, and he reached up behind Paris to one of the upper shelves. He reached with both his arms, then felt Paris’s warm hands on the sides of his torso. Hector dropped him arms back down, and grabbed Paris’s arms just as his brother leaned forward and covered his nipple with his hot, wet mouth.

Hector gritted his teeth and firmly slammed Paris back against shelves. Paris moaned plaintively, then reached down and lifted his shift until it was up around his stomach. Hector ignored his brazen display, and his pleas, and reached up again and pulled down as much armor off the shelves as he could.

Breastplates, thick leather hides, helmets, leather-bound shields and arm and shin guards crashed to the floor all around them. Paris looked around in a daze, while Hector placed his hands on his shoulders and pushed down. Paris knelt in the midst of the armor.

“Hector… my shirt… ”

Hector ignored him, and pulled his head forward, forcing Paris unto his hands, facing him. He bent his knees and sank down over Paris’s head. Paris bent his elbows until his face was on the floor, pressed into the ridges of a breastplate.

“Take it off, Hector…!” he panted, and arched his back.

Hector now knelt with Paris’s head and shoulders under him, between his thighs. He reached down and picked up a leather whip with its thongs bound together into a thick handle.

“I want to feel…” Paris whimpered under him.

Hector bent forward, his cock sliding wetly against Paris’s heated back, and ran his hand over Paris’s cheek, spreading him. He pushed the whip under him, seeking Paris’s mouth, and felt his thumb and forefinger sink into the wet heat along with the handle of the whip. He pulled it out and brought the wet base to Paris’s entrance.

Leaning forward, he stroked the handle against Paris’s entrance, and Paris bucked under him. Hector pushed the whip a little way in. Suddenly he felt Paris’s mouth against his inner thigh, and a gasp escaped before he could hold it in.

Then Paris bit on his flesh, and Hector’s free hand flew to his cock, and he gripped and squeezed himself before he was aware. He couldn’t spread his thighs any wider, but he didn’t want to, either. He had no interest in making this _comfortable_ for Paris.

He looked down at the thongs of the leather whip coming out of Paris, like a horsetail, and when Paris arched it moved. Hector licked his lips, and his breaths came short and fast as he began to stroke himself, thinking when next he rode his horse into battle he would think of Paris like this.

Paris began to suck on the flesh of Hector’s inner thigh, and Hector began to lose his concentration. Paris somehow moved higher with each lick, until his lips closed over Hector’s balls. Hector growled angrily and moved forward off Paris. Paris turned around and reached his hands back, and grabbed Hector’s shin guard. Hector pushed his hand off, then knelt behind Paris.

He leaned forward and quickly grabbed both of Paris’s wrists. The thongs of the whip brushed his chest as the whip sank farther in under his weight. Paris gasped and bucked wildly against him and Hector shuddered at the sensation. Then he pulled Paris’s hands behind his back.

With Paris’s face pressed into the breastplate under him, and his wrists held immobile against his back, Hector slowly pulled out the whip, with Paris gasping in short hard breaths. Hector dropped it, and then positioned himself to enter Paris.

Paris jerked and pushed himself back against Hector, and Hector in his daze wondered how. He should not even be able to move! Paris’s movement had brought his face near the base running of a bottom shelf, and right up against a prone spearhead. And as Hector watched, Paris moved even closer, and licked the spearhead.

Hector could not suppress his gasp of disbelief. Paris moaned shamelessly, now beginning to writhe under him. All calculated thought vanished from Hector’s mind and he reached down and grabbed the top of Paris’s shift. With one swift motion he ripped it down the middle until it fell apart in two equal pieces.

Paris squirmed, trying to grasp Hector’s hands holding his against his back. Hector didn’t try and stop him when Paris’s hands finally found purchase and clamped down on his. Paris gripped impossibly hard, and used both his and Hector’s body weight to grind himself harder against Hector’s groin.

Hector’s pulse tripped and of its own accord his mouth dropped forward and seared itself against Paris’s arched golden back. Paris’s skin was like molten lava, burning Hector right through. But Hector still didn’t stop. Feverishly he moved closer and positioned his cock against Paris’s tight entrance, rubbing his moisture over Paris, readying himself.

But without warning, and in one smooth movement, Paris pushed back and consumed Hector all the way.

Hector gripped Paris’s hips in astonishment, but Paris was already grinding mindlessly against him. Hector bent forward and supported himself on his palms on either side of Paris, staring down at his bountiful dark curls, and began to ride him.

Paris wailed out his pleasure and Hector thought his heart would stop. He pounded into his brother.

“Hector…” Paris wailed. “Hector… Hector…”

“Stop it,” Hector rasped.

“Oh… gods… Hector…” Paris groped frantically sideways and held on to Hector’s armguards as his head steadily bumped the base of the thick wooden shelf.

“ _Don’t_ say my name…” Hector grated harshly.

“But… F- father will see my bruises in the morning…” Paris gasped softly.

“Shut up,” Hector ground out thickly, but his cock had already swollen in reaction to Paris’s words.

Hector groaned harshly, and pushed himself upright. He pulled his leg up so that one foot was now flat on the floor and he knelt only on one knee. Paris immediately lifted one leg to the side and hooked it over Hector’s knee. Hector refused to cower. Instead he leaned forward again, clamping his lips down on Paris’s sweat slicked shoulder. One lick, and Hector mindlessly began to lave Paris’s entire shoulder.

Paris moved his shoulder forward, and had licked Hector’s roving tongue before Hector knew to pull back with a rough sound. With Hector’s weight off his back, Paris reared unto his hands, and slammed back onto Hector’s cock, meeting him thrust for thrust. Hector tried desperately to catch his breath, and reached under Paris.

Paris’s cock was long and thick, and Hector gasped at how good it felt in his hand, how seldom he let himself enjoy this. He fisted Paris, smearing his drops of slick seed all over the tip and head of his cock. Paris turned his head and looked behind him, and caught Hector’s eyes. And for the first time that night Hector looked away. He could not stroke Paris like this, and watch his eyes full of celestial desire bordering on madness.

Hector furiously pulled his hand away and pulled his cock nearly all the way out of Paris. Paris exclaimed in frustration and Hector felt a sense of pure satisfaction at the sound. Paris had now begun to grab behind him, trying to reach Hector’s hips, to pull him forward again. Hector licked the sweat off his lips, and his nostrils flared, and he breathed through his open mouth, watching Paris’s frustrated efforts.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Hector’s battle-honed sense of self preservation warned him not to push Paris too far.

But a moment later it was too late for that, and the situation was no longer in his control.

Paris pushed off his hands against Hector’s chest, and Hector fell backwards on his backside. Paris fell with him so that they remained joined. Startled, and drowning in a morass of lust, Hector’s reaction came slowly. By then Paris had turned around still impaled on Hector’s cock, and now faced Hector, eyes blazing.

Paris lifted himself slightly off Hector’s cock until only the head remained inside him. Then he reached under him and clamped down on the base. Hector grunted and jerked, and grabbed Paris’s forearm below his elbow, trying to pull his hand off. But Paris’s grip was locked.

A sharp moment of clarity mocked Hector that he had dared to think he could be the victor.

Paris’s eyes were now closed, his mouth open, as he bounced on Hector’s tip. Hector wanted to grab his hips and slam him down, or to hold him in place while he impaled him. But that would not help him, and his mind was in a riot, trying to get Paris’s fingers off him, to let him climax.

“Xandros!” Hector nearly screamed. “I beg you…!”

“Oh yes, Hector…” Paris purred, oblivious to Hector’s misery. He pushed down over the head of Hector’s cock and then clenched his muscles tight, and lifted himself off again, pulling Hector with him. Hector thrashed under him.

Paris somehow slid his other hand around and grabbed the back of Hector’s head. And while he clamped down on Hector’s climax, he leaned in. Without bothering to cover Hector’s mouth with his, he slid his tongue inside, and Hector’s mind rebelled at the unwanted kiss.

Paris rapidly flicked the tip of his tongue over the tip of Hector’s tongue, and at that moment released his grip and slid down all the way to the hilt. Hector bellowed and spasmed and gripped Paris’s hips as his climax ripped through him, and he lost the game.

A lifetime later, Paris still sat on his lap, purring and stroking Hector anywhere he could. Hector’s mind was in pieces, and he didn’t try to stop Paris.

Then Paris’s fingers lightly grazed the back of Hector’s arms, and Hector jerked. Paris’s eyes widened slightly. He didn’t know when it had begun, but when Paris touched him there these days the sensation was like nothing he could describe. Hector quickly gathered his strength and tried to push Paris off him.

But Paris had clamped his legs around Hector’s waist. Hector scowled and looked at Paris. Paris’s mouth was open, nearly panting, and his eyes shone.

Hector’s heart nearly failed him as realization dawned. For it seemed neither Paris, nor the goddess, was completely done with him.

 _End_


	2. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment alone for Paris.

Paris’s eyelids lifted slowly, and he wondered where he was. Curled on his side, with his hands under his face, he could not orient himself. His eyes roamed and he saw weaponry… and that he was lying on a thick leather hide on the floor…

Confusion clouded his mind, but he remained where he was. A small noise, and he looked up and saw Hector. His brother was seated on a low wooden stool, his elbows resting on his spread knees, his hands hanging between them. His head was bowed.

He was the beauty of Apollo himself, and he was an enigma to Paris… Paris closed his eyes against the ache that seared his chest.

And he remembered last night. How was it that he was waking, when neither of them had been able to stop long enough to fall asleep. It was now morning, as the quality of light in the armory testified to, but Paris remembered last night. Their toiling, their perpetual struggle to find each other in the labyrinth that was their need for each other.

But again, as ever, the morning had come to torment him. Hector once again prepared to leave for battle, and Paris’s mind collapsed in silence. In his head were punishing images, thoughts, visions, of Hector under savage assault, fighting his way out of death’s jaws, fighting, fighting, fighting.

What god or man could counsel him with what he wished with all his heart to hear? Who could he compel to swear to him that Hector would outlive this day... Olympus mocked, and watched, and waited. For was it not the fate of all warriors destined for immortality that one day they would not come home…

His mouth fell open, and he breathed as quietly as he could, deeply, to cool the fire in his head.

Silently, he implored for another day, another night. He promised, and bargained, and lied. But his heart told him it would be easier to simply lie here, to never get up. So that when there was no need for him to ever wake up again, he would already have died.

Finally, Hector began to lift his head… and Paris slowly shut his eyes, and laid completely still.

He heard the scrape of the stool on the floor as Hector stood up, and then there was absolute silence in the room for a long time. At last Paris heard the bolt being thrown, the door opened and shut, and Hector was gone.

Paris turned over and faced the wall, his arms tightly wrapped around himself. His heart ached without respite… but he did not know how to cry. So instead he laid quietly, and waited for the blissful oblivion of the goddess’s gifts to wash over him.

 _End_


End file.
